"I can't recall her name now. She could tell you who I am. But if you're determined to lock us up until the morning you might as well do it. We're all tired out, and we've got to sleep somewhere. I warn you that you're making a mistake and that we're not the burglars you are looking for. We came in here this afternoon in a boat, as I told you." "I told you they come in a boat," said a man. "What was the name of the boat?" asked the constable. "The Hoppergrass." "The--what's-that-you-say?" "Hoppergrass." "I never heard of no such boat." Mr. Daddles was silent. "Where's the boat, now?" "I don't know,--she sailed away." The constable laughed. "You needn't think you can play it over me, with any such story as that, young feller." Justin had now returned from down stairs, and the constable ordered him and another man to conduct us all below. "Put 'em in number four an' five." "Number four an' five it is!" So we descended the stairs. Below, there was a brick-lined corridor, with three cells on each side. At the end a kerosene lamp hung in a bracket on the wall. This was the only light. "Hullo!" said a cheerful voice, "how long did you get? Life- sentence?" It was the man who called himself Sprague. His banjo stood against the wall just outside his cell, and under the lamp. "No," said Mr. Daddles, "we're awaiting our trial in the morning, the same as you." "What was your crime, anyway? Whistling?" Justin shook his head at the man in the cell. "You fellers better look out,--all on ye," said he. "Eb's pretty mad. An' he's got a bad temper when he gets riled, I tell you. An' folks are all stirred up about this burglin' business." He looked at us doubtfully, and shook his head again. The other man--he was the tall, silent one, who had led me along the road- opened the last cell on the right and told Ed Mason and me to go in. Mr. Daddles and Jimmy were put in a cell across the corridor. The tall man vanished upstairs, leaving us all locked in. Justin was turning down the light. "Look here, old sport," said the banjo-player, "just let me have that, will you?" He pointed toward the banjo. Justin's jaw dropped, and he raised his hands in horror. "Let yer have that? Holy Cats! Why, Eb would skin me alive--an' you too--if you was to play on that thing down here!" "I don't want to play on it," replied the man, "but the strings will get damp, and break, out there. Just let me have it in here, --that's a good fellow. I can let the strings down a bit. No good spoiling 'em. I won't play a note on it. Honest Injun!" "Sure about it?" asked Justin. "Sure. Honest, I won't." "Well, all right, then. Mind what yer promised, now!" He took a key down from a hook under the lamp, unlocked the cell door, and passed in the banjo. After locking the door with great care, and replacing the key on its hook, he bade us all good night, and went upstairs. "Burglary? Is that what the Czar has run you in for?" This from the stranger with the banjo.